


Do A Barrel Roll

by 3amepiphany



Series: Drabbles 'n Bits [7]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Around the World in 80 Days AU, F/M, M/M, The Great Race AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 18:55:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11812152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3amepiphany/pseuds/3amepiphany
Summary: He’d heard enough of Eames’ prowess under the hood of many prix-style vehicles as well as the design and manufacture of several private models to know that he wasn’t dealing with a complete amateur but when it came to the design plans of the Barrel’s propulsion, Arthur wanted only the best.





	Do A Barrel Roll

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of an 80 Days Around the World/Great Race AU. Not sure where it was going and wasn’t happy with fleshing it out at the pace I was, so it’s been sitting in my drafts for eons. Sorry, I really wish there were more of this to give you or that I could at least see it through to the finish line, but I do not and don’t feel as if I can.
> 
> http://billetdouxnondistribue.tumblr.com/post/89600679402/sort-of-an-80-days-around-the-worldgreat-race-au

Eames had finally caught up to him somewhere in Cairo, which, Arthur thought, was a complete waste of time. He even said so. But Eames being Eames and smiling at him with that stupid crookedly white smile under all the mud and dirt, and then taking his goggles off and leaving an even more ridiculous racoonish-look about his eyes, Arthur just couldn’t help but smile back.

“So here you are.”

“So here I am.”

“Are you having a bit of trouble there?”

“With the Barrel? No, no, she’s just… She’s just got a bit of sand in her and I’m debating on what I’m going to do about it.” He wiped off his hands and sat up, dusting off his trousers and then reaching for his work belts. Eames nodded, folding his arms across his wide chest, the brass bits on his own holsters tinkling against their fixtures. Arthur turned back to the buggy and gave her a solid kick, and Eames started very loudly.

“Hey now! That’s no way to treat a piece of machinery you little dolt!”

Arthur yelled back at him, “I’m only destroying it now so you won’t be able to steal it from me when I turn my back on it!”

They stared at each other angrily until they suddenly became aware of the fact that others in the area were watching them. Arthur cursed under his breath and headed back around the corner of the building. Eames followed.

“Is this where you’re staying, then?” he asked.

“It’s where I am staying, yes,” the young racer called back over his shoulder.

“Fancy that, I’ve got a room here myself. Been here two days now.” And that finally got Arthur’s attention. The thin man stopped and turned on his heels to give the cad a dark look. “You heard me right,” Eames said carefully, slowing his stroll and coming in very close to Arthur’s person. “I’ve been very bored here without you around.”

“By the mess you are I’d say you’ve been having plenty of your type of fun. I’ve got a schedule to keep.”

“Mmm,” said Eames. “You’re a day ahead, and judging by the… repairs that you’ll need to do for your buggy, you’ll be two behind by the time you finish. Can we talk about this inside? It’s a bit hot out here and I’d like to clean up a bit.”

“By all means,” Arthur said, standing aside and giving him an ostentatious gesture to lead the way.

And lead the way he did. It was better, Arthur thought initially, to follow the man to his room instead, but he figured that it didn’t really matter anyway as Eames likely knew what room he was staying in moments after he registered for it. He glared at the taller man’s back as they made their way through the small lobby and up the stairwell, fixating slightly on a small swipe of grease near the collar-line almost as if he were going to set it on fire. Eames eventually produced a shiny little key from one of the pockets on his trousers and Arthur waited for him to let them inside the room before saying anything.

“Did Cobb send you?”

Eames had barely closed the door when he had to give Arthur a small chuckle and another grin.

“Would you mind sitting pretty while I have a bit of a wash?”

“What do you think I am, one of your French girls?”

“I certainly think you’re my French something or I wouldn’t be here, willing to help you.”

Arthur opened his mouth, and then shut it again, and frowned.

Eames was already in a fair state of undressing, and said as he stepped into the small bathroom, “If you like there is some Copperwaight in the small baggage, some pieces about internal combustion and one about the mechanics of trionic coiling, but you’re more than welcome to step in with me if you’d rather.”

Arthur threw him off by saying that he would.

“By all means,” said Eames, leaning half back into the main room and mirroring the move Arthur had made earlier, but in contrast, not waiting for him and disappearing to start the water.

Arthur followed him in, slowly, hands clasped behind his back. “So, did Cobb send you?” He watched Eames finish disrobing, climbing into the large tub and fiddling with the shiny copper spigots, the spray from the large copper showerhead already causing a bit of a mess with the dirt in his hair and on his shoulders. The driver took a seat on the small wooden stool in the corner farthest away from the tub, looking down at the newest spatters of water and flecks of mud on his shirtsleeves and across his vest. He wiped at his face a bit, too. “He did seem rather worried that I decided to do this alone but I didn’t think he’d hire you to come after me.”

Eames stood there under the falling water for a moment before realizing that this was what Arthur had meant by joining him, and so he yanked the linen curtain closed. “You really didn’t think he’d hire someone?”

“No, just you.” Arthur suddenly longed for a shower of his own but he was going to get back under that damned dune buggy as soon as this talk was over. He looked at his hands, and then decided he shouldn’t look at his hands until he was done with repairs. “I know that Saito has a lot riding on this bet but in all honesty it’s like I said before, I can do this. And what the opposition doesn’t know is that I already _have_. I’m aiming to shave a week off of my travel time on this run.”

“How sure are you that they don’t know this?” Eames asked very seriously. It was almost as if he didn’t know and Arthur felt a bit of a smirk starting on his face at the thought of having that backed confidence and being able to throw that at this madman. “I mean, I already knew, long ago, but they… are you sure they don’t?”

And just like that he was deflated. Arthur contemplated throwing one of Eames’ own shoes at him but decided after a few heavy breaths that it probably would not help anything more than satisfying his irrational anger at the jerk. He looked instead at the large, brass-framed mirror across from him over the pedestal sink, already fogging up with the steam from the shower, and he said, “Pretty sure they don’t or they wouldn’t have made the wager.”

“And you’re certain they’ve not done the same thing themselves?”

“Are you purposefully trying to piss me off? Because it’s working.”

“Darling, don’t tell me you didn’t think about that.”

“Don’t assume I didn’t, that’s what’s pissing me off.”

It was quiet, save for the sound of Eames’s scrubbing and the running water. And then, “If I told you I would be picking up what you need for your repairs on my way to dinner tonight would you feel strongly about that?”

“What do you mean?”

Eames pushed aside the curtain, which was fairly soaked through now and tinted with the reds and browns of dirt of “fun” and repeated himself slowly, adding, “I wonder if it wouldn’t be better for you to shower and dress, and come with me.”

After a moment Arthur stood, shrugging his belts back onto his shoulder a little more comfortably, and left the bathroom. It thoroughly pissed him off that Eames had been looking at the Barrel. No, it was more likely that he was the cause of what was plaguing the poor little buggy. The audacity that man had, the lack of humility and the utter propensity of his slights just made Arthur brew, and brew darkly. This was such a waste of time.

“Meet me in the lobby in an hour!” Eames shouted after him.

“So tell me, gentlemen, how is Rome this time of year?”

Eames helped himself to a large spoonful of honey, smearing it on his bread and then reaching for the little pot of dried fruit. “Oh, it was lovely,” he said, offering the pot to Arthur, who took a small bit of what looked to be a pear out of it and thanking him.

It had been lovely, and he personally looked forward to it being summer by the time they’d circle back around to it; Arthur did enjoy the Mediterranean quite a lot and he had been a sad to leave it, however the bragging rights against Cobol were too sweet to ignore. Much sweeter but easier to stomach than the dessert he’d just had. He nibbled on the fruit, discovered it not pear, and not as tasty as the curried, stewed fruit they’d had with cream, but ate it anyways out of politeness.

Eames chatted on with their host about the airship flight they’d taken out of Italy through here to the Suez Canal, loading up the Barrel and then unpacking it, and how–

Arthur finished the last of his milk and excused himself for he must have a cigarette and stretch his legs. His host laughed and explained to him that he was more than welcome to lay about on the pillows, but if he would wish for a smoke then his host would be more than happy to share his own pipe and stock with them. Eames looked over at him and fixed him with a smile that said they’d best take the man up on his offer, so he agreed. As soon as the man disappeared to fetch his shisha Arthur turned to Eames and asked very sternly why he was lying to the man about them having traveled together out of Rome.

“Because it makes for a better story, darling. If I told him why I was following you we probably wouldn’t have had as nice of a dinner, nor would we get your parts.”

“You still haven’t even told me.”

“All in good time, love,” he said, reaching for a bit more of the bread, and then the honey and cream. “Just relax, we’ll be on our way in the morning.”

Arthur did indeed stretch his legs out and get comfortable on the giant nest of pillows, but not without giving Eames a rough kick in the side. While they smoked, he contemplated greatly just sending the Barrel onward to San Francisco from Mumbai and having his contact there make the repairs so that it was ready to go across North America and the last leg of the tour across Europe.

But he wasn’t sure how much time he would gain or lose by doing that, she hadn’t been this much of a hassle on the last run.

It was well past sunset when they came back to the hotel with their parcel of parts, extending their gratitude to their host in the way of making notes to have some Italian wine sent his way the next time they were able to correspond with Cobb. They spent the better part of two hours working on the buggy before they were satisfied that her filters would operate a little better with a new tank of fuel, and going to bed.

_He stalked towards the door, defiant. “You won’t have to worry about this, Saito, I’ve got it under control. Just put your money down and leave the rest to me.”_

_“Arthur,” Cobb called after him. He stopped. “Arthur, won’t you at least consider taking Yusuf? For Mal’s sake?”_

_“For hers or yours, Dom?”_

_Saito broke the uncomfortable silence. “Fischer will likely be off tomorrow. You’ve got to keep in mind that he has the resources to make this journey and make it a lot easier than anyone else. But you’ve also got to remind yourself that you’ve got me here, backing you.” The businessman looked at the young man standing there, in his muted suit and holding his hat and gloves in a tense fist. Saito could tell now that this was more than a matter of social dignity._

_The racer looked at them and said very clearly, “Fischer has people who will do for them because he threatens them, pays them, and as much as he’ll never admit getting that from his father, it’s there all the same. I have people who will do for me because I have done for them. If for no other reason than today, Saito, I will make this happen. Gentlemen, I will be leaving tomorrow. I shall post from Palermo.” He walked out into the hallway, closing the door after himself, and was immediately fixed with a stern look from Eames, from behind the bent and folded newspaper he wasn’t reading._

_“What do you want?” he asked._

_“I think that’s a rather uncouth thing to say about yourself, Arceneau.”_

_Arthur stiffened slightly. “What would you know about the honor system? You’re a con artist.”_

_Eames only smiled and said, “Artist,” half to himself._

_Arthur only scowled and walked away, grabbing his coat from the hanger in the foyer and leaving the building and pulling out his notebook to get started on the list of things he’d have to procure and arrange before the shops closed for lunch at eleven._

Eames finished his coffee and paid for their breakfast as Arthur went to have them checked them out of their rooms, and was pleased to see the mild shock on Arthur’s face as he saw that they had already both been billed to Saito’s company. He pulled the mechanic aside and asked what was going on. Eames only shrugged, saying if Arthur’d prefer to take care of the accounting, he was welcome to do so at any time. He was just being kind and taking the initiative. “Saito’s hired you then,” Arthur said conclusively as he checked over his bags in the Barrel one more time.

The only response was a laugh. Arthur nearly left without him.

Once on the road to Suez, he looked over at Eames, the man’s head lolled back against the seat, arms splayed out everywhere he could rest them, sun glinting off of his goggles and baking-in the disdainful grease marks that hadn’t been washed out of his undershirt the night before, wet bandanna tied around the lower half of his face and for all the world looking like some sort of carefree drifting grifter along for the ride (which, for all Arthur could say about it, he _was_ ) and he said to him, “I really hope Saito gave you permissions for the account.”

“You haven’t kept that information lying about, Arthur, what do you think?” Eames asked frankly.

Arthur gripped the wheel a little tighter and prayed for the grace to not leave his new trip companion in Agruda. Eames said something. “What? I couldn’t hear you.”

“I said I really wish you’d let me come with you from the get-go.”

“How did you get to Cairo so fast?”

“I skipped the driving and took an airship from Rome to Palermo that morning you left. Freighter. I took the liberty of the lack of attentions in the dockyard. From Palermo I took the same airship’s schedule you did, only that same afternoon I came in. Bingo, two days on you.”

Arthur glared at him between glances at the road. “Yes well, now that you’re with me you’re going to have to move legitimately. We have checkpoints and contacts that must be made, same as Fischer. When we get to Suez we’ll have to wire to back to the University.”

“Dom will be glad to hear it,” Eames said loudly, smugly.

They continued on in silence, Arthur trying to watch his speed and remember to not clench his jaw so angrily or he’d get a headache, Eames eventually putting a shirt on to keep from burning completely.

Once in Suez and at the airfield, Arthur wired to Rome that they had arrived and were now on their way to Mumbai. The airship taking them across was immense, almost the same size as the ones that would cross the Atlantic, and Arthur had a very hard time in trying not to give Eames a hard time, for the mechanic was already busying himself with getting tossed pre-flight.

“You at least made sure the Barrel was on board?” the racer asked, sitting down next to Eames and ordering himself something iced and bitter, that wasn’t exactly the tea he had been expecting.

Eames looked at him blankly for a moment, and then he blinked and said, “Wasn’t there a steamer we could take instead?”

“Not without losing a week. Mr. Eames, are you afraid of flying? Airships are quite safe. How you made it from Rome if this is the case, I wish I could know.” He sat there fishing ice out of his glass with a spoon and looked about the small cafe, and even that didn’t last long before he was bored with it. He pulled out his notebook and the pamphlets of schedules, bent on going over it all in the time before they were to board, when Eames finally said something again.

“I’m not here because of Cobb, though he did ask me after I’d already made my mind up.”

Arthur gave him a bit of a look that partly showed that he was done talking about this for the day, _no, for the rest of the trip_ , and partly showed that he didn’t know what he needed to say but damn if he wasn’t going to let this bother him only it completely did and now he absolutely had to say something even if he couldn’t figure out what. “You’d already made your mind up,” he repeated, for lack of any other idea.

“Surely.”

“Right, and now you’ll say it’s because Fischer needed a stronger competitor.”

“That’s what you’ll say, if you’ll believe it.” Out of the pocket inside of his coat Eames pulled out someone else’s billfold and paid. Arthur gaped, but he only leaned down into Arthur’s ear and said, whiskey heavy on his breath, “How’d you manage the first time, love? Hmm?” before ambling off outside, clearing his throat and taking his steps slowly so he wouldn’t fall over.

It had been like this for as long as Arthur could remember, though.

Mal knew the boy through her father and thought him absolutely precious and very intelligent, and Eames knew Dom through the work they’d done in the past, and it was over a thick cup of Professor Miles’ yuletide eggnog, fireside, that the two men were introduced. It started off swimmingly – Eames hadn’t been very impressed with the appearance of him (he was thin and angular and very curt) and didn’t care much for his harsh American accent (it wasn’t soft like Dom’s, who said it was because Arthur was from the East coast), but when Mal spoke about Arthur’s portfolio and why Miles wanted him to come to Europe in the first place, Eames tried his best to keep his surprise under a smooth smirk; only it would slip out occasionally in the form of quips which didn’t really endear Arthur to him at all.

In fact, later, it had been over the small rarebit hors d’ouevres that Arthur had clocked him one on the chin.

_“The London-Exeter was a fluke,” he had said simply as Mal had rushed to make sure Eames could still stand properly. “And if it weren’t for the pacing during the Paris-Madrid I would have had that one in the bag.”_

_“I can admire it, and I can admire you,” the mechanic had said as a way of mild apology, rubbing his chin and letting Dom’s wife tend him as Dom himself put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder and led him out into the hallway. He’d heard enough of Eames’ prowess under the hood of many prix-style vehicles as well as the design and manufacture of several private models to know that he wasn’t dealing with a complete amateur but when it came to the design plans of the Barrel’s propulsion, Arthur wanted only the best._

_Cobb had said at one point after the initial testing that he wished Arthur could hermetically seal his own temper, but when the driver reminded him that he wasn’t the one getting constantly tipped and into bar fights or gambling away money to be spent on parts, he backed down and let Arthur compose himself._

And now, Arthur could feel himself slowly reaching that boiling point again.


End file.
